


i don't need you

by LonesomeDreamer



Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [13]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: LonelyEyes, M/M, bastard men got another divorce and this time the reunion goes a little differently, but that means it's at least a little ooc, for tma that is, so i guess apologies in advance but here you go have some painful reuniting, this was actually the third fic i wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: Peter returns to find Jonah in a severe state of disarray.
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664716
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	i don't need you

Six months after divorce number lord-knows-what—they’d had too many to count, by that point—, Peter phased himself out of the Lonely with a sigh and appeared in the study of Jonah Magnus. The moment his form solidified in the room, the other man’s posture straightened and became tense; Lukas immediately knew that Jonah was aware of his presence. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“What are you doing here?” Magnus growled, not turning around.

“...coming home?” Peter replied, blinking slowly. The question had confused him somewhat; his answer seemed obvious.

“This isn’t _your_ home, it’s _my_ home,” Jonah grumbled, and the bitterness in his voice worked twofold on the sea captain. The Lonely within him was pleased by the annoyance; his own clear consciousness was marred by a strange twinge of unidentifiable emotion.

“I’m your husband. That makes it our—”

“Not anymore, you’re not!” Jonah cried shrilly, leaping to his feet and slamming his hands down on the desk. He was still facing away from Peter.

“You _left_. You picked a fight and _left me_ and that’s it! It’s _over_ , Peter. I’m sick and tired of playing your _stupid_ games.”

This coming from Jonah was entirely new and foreign; the twisty feeling in Peter’s gut had returned, and it wasn’t pleasant. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, a combined urge to leave and yet to stay both assaulting his mind.

“I don’t know what this is about, Jonah,” he began, tone level and calm. “You’re being highly unreasonable—a key flaw of yours, really. You get too emotionally involved—”

He froze as he realized that Jonah’s stance hadn’t seemed to soften. The older Brit was still standing rigidly behind his desk, palms planted firmly on the surface.

“...Jonah, stop being ridiculous,” he said lowly, taking a few steps forward. “You’re acting like a fool. I—”

A gasp pulled itself from the captain’s lips as Magnus turned his head to look at him. The man in question seemed dreadfully ill; his cheeks were hollow, his skin was ghastly pale, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. His eyes were also quite red, although the captain couldn’t quite figure out the cause of that.

“...you need me, Jonah.”

_A new tactic, perhaps?_

“You wouldn’t be able to fund your experiments and the like without me. You—”

“I DON’T NEED YOU!”

The words seemed to echo inside of Peter’s brain, Jonah’s scream a desperate and painful one. He took a step forward as if to take the man’s hand, but he was rebuked.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch me!” Magnus snapped, voice breaking jarringly. “Get out of my house, Lukas. I don’t need you, and I never have.”

“Looks like you’ve finally stopped being so obsessed with your image,” Peter laughed nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“GET OUT!”

Infuriated, Jonah practically marched to the door of his office and began his way towards the main staircase; Peter followed him rather hastily.

“See sense on this one, Jonah!” he called out, several paces behind. “You’ve got every gift of the Beholding, surely you can—”

Jonah had flinched at the word, and confusion filled Lukas’ mind. Very slowly, like water dripping into a bucket from a tiny hole in a pipe, Peter put two and two together.

“You—you didn’t stop _Feeding_ the _Eye_ , did you?” he asked, eyes widening. “For all your fear of death, Jonah, you’re sometimes the dumbest man I know! Doing that is like asking to be—”

And like a ton of bricks, the second part of his deduction fell into place.

“...you thought that depriving the Eye would get me to come back. And, if it didn’t, you’d…die.”

His own voice had gone quiet, quieter than it had been in years. The squirmy feeling in his stomach was back, and it had only grown; he was starting to feel nauseous.

_Is he that invested? How stupid of him._

As much as he decried his former husband as stupid, however, there was some rebellious part of him that was enraged at hearing Jonah’s words purely because it meant the older man had hurt himself over Peter.

_...he did this because of me._

Jonah, swaying on the staircase, did not confirm or deny this—at least, not yet—but was saved by circumstance. His knees gave out beneath him; Peter just barely managed to close the gap between them in time to catch Magnus.

“Tell me, Jonah,” he commanded firmly. “Did you do this to get me to come back? How long has it been since you’ve last Fed? When was the last time you ate or drank?”

Jonah looked away, blue eyes—far duller than they had ever been—hazy and unfocused. He was in a state of utter deterioration; it took him far too long to even begin to speak again, and when he did his voice was raspy and quiet.

“...You must think it’s so clever of you, to just—just up and leave,” he mumbled weakly, before coughing into his hands.

Peter’s expression had gone from blank to horrified. In his mind’s eye he could see his father laconically chiding him for not being a true servant to the Lonely—god forbid he felt emotion—, but the anger and guilt in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

“I would have come back,” he found himself saying. “You should have just told me, Jonah. You—”

He paused as Jonah began to cough again, crimson droplets covering too-thin hands. With one thumb, he wiped the droplets away. The sensation of appalling guilt and horror had travelled from his solar plexus to his entire body, crawling under his skin and making him feel remarkably upset—especially considering his status as an avatar of the Lonely.

_But I’ve never been perfect at that, either._

Jonah was, though—to him, at least. Jonah Magnus, with all of his cockiness and pride and narcissism, who had always been more perfect than Peter had been. Now, the man was in a state so far from his storied perfection that he was barely recognizable. Acknowledging that fact stung his heart.

“It’s been weeks, then. Months,” Peter determined quietly, before picking Jonah up and cradling him close. “I’m getting you cleaned up and healed, and then we can talk about wedding plans.”

Jonah gave a muffled little sob, face buried in Peter’s chest. Peter wrapped an arm around him, warmly, looking to comfort the poor man. He resumed climbing the stairs, this time with the older Brit nestled securely in his arms.

“No, I’m not leaving again, Jonah,” Lukas shook his head, interpreting the little whimpers and setting Jonah down onto his own bed. “After all, the Lonely does rather depend on the Eye. No wonder you’ve gotten so light…”

“It’s been very hard,” Jonah whispered, wiping blood away from his lips. “I—the Lonely really does need the Eye, you know…”

“No more words,” Peter said firmly. “Not until you’ve stopped coughing up what should stay in your veins.”

He picked up Jonah’s hand and gave it a soft kiss, uncharacteristically gentle in his actions.

“I’m so sorry, Jonah. I’m so sorry. This is...my fault.”

The action of taking credit for such a thing was foreign to him; his tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth, but he couldn’t even look at Jonah without the overwhelming sense of guilt filling his body.

“...I’ll get some food. And some... _things_ for you to read. Probably the second items first,” he mumbled, standing up. “But I’ll get you into bed before that.”

He bent over Jonah’s body and began to help the man off with his shoes. Eventually, he’d gotten the older Brit into a proper pair of pajamas.

“That should do it,” he muttered, tucking Jonah into bed and smoothing the covers under the man’s chin. “Comfortable?”

“In pain,” Jonah grimaced, still looking just as horrible as he had before. “But I’ll live. Go on, now. Go and get...whatever it is you’re getting to try and appease me before I throw you out again.”

His words were harsh and cold as they hit Peter’s pale skin, burning him as if he’d been thrown into a pit of dying coals. The sea captain sighed, turning and walking out to go find whatever it was he was looking for.

_He’s really not worth it. He has everything he could ever want, and I do believe I don’t fit into that category anymore._

The library was locked, but that wasn’t any sort of obstacle to him. As he stepped inside, however, a few nagging thoughts began to appear in the back of his mind.

_Perhaps he locked it so he wouldn’t come in. He couldn’t keep himself from it, he didn’t have the willpower, but if he couldn’t get in it was all moot._

He selected a few books that he recalled Jonah enjoying in years past, as well as a few bound copies of stories that had been gifts from the captain himself—he was fairly certain Jonah had never touched them, but seeing as they contained personal statements they would likely be quite useful. As he crossed the floor of the darkened library, he stopped in quiet surprise.

Someone was crying.

“... _Jonah_ , oh, god, I—”

He was upstairs faster than his legs could carry him, fairly certain that he’d used the Lonely as a bypass to the need to walk up the stairs even if it had happened so quickly that he couldn’t remember.

Jonah was curled up in a ball in bed, bloodied hands hiding his face as he sobbed. His whole body was shaking; he seemed so small and vulnerable in that moment that Peter felt some strange protective force rise within his chest at the sight. The books were deposited unceremoniously on the floor as the captain rushed forward and began to stroke Jonah’s hair.

“Easy, easy,” he whispered. “No need to work yourself up over this, JoJ—Jonah. Steady breaths.”

“I thought you’d left again,” Jonah whimpered pathetically. “I—I didn’t mean what I said, Peter. I need you. I _do_ need you. I—I’m obstinate and pathetic, I am, I know it…”

Peter’s heart felt like it had crumpled in his chest.

“No, no, shh, calm down,” he insisted, head spinning. “I’m not leaving, Jonah. I’m right here, and I’m going to take care of you. You’re not pathetic, not now.”

Peter bent and picked up a book from the ground as Jonah clung to him.

_I don’t want to do this, but...this will help him._

“Lie back,” he insisted softly. “I’ll read to you, alright? Take it in and let yourself heal.”

Jonah slowly leaned back against the pillows, keeping a hand on Peter just in case. As the captain began to read, the older Brit found himself unable to stay awake; his eyelids shut, and eventually he was soundly asleep.

“Thank goodness,” Peter sighed quietly, looking down at Jonah and closing his book before giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Rest well, my little JoJo. I’ll be here when you wake.”


End file.
